fingers
were perfectly steady. He looked down the table towards Phipps, whose
expression was noncommittal, and gently disemburdened himself of
Flossie's arm, which had stolen through his.

"I think you are the most wonderful man I ever met," she confided.

"You're a brick," Sarah whispered in his ear. "Come and see me off the
premises, there's a dear. Jimmy won't be ready for hours yet and I want
to get home."

Wingate rose at once, made his adieux and accompanied Sarah to the door,
followed by a reproachful glance from Flossie. The former took his arm
and held it tightly as they passed along the corridor.

"I think that you are the dearest man I ever knew, Mr. Wingate," she
said, "just as I think that Josephine is the dearest woman, and I hope
more than anything in the world--well, you know what I hope."

"I think I do," Wingate replied. "Thank you."

CHAPTER X

Andrew Slate, a very personable man in his spring clothes of grey tweed,
took up his hat and prepared to depart. Half-past twelve had just struck
by Wingate's clock, and the two men had been together since ten.

"You're a wonderful person, Wingate," Slate said, with a note of genuine
admiration in his tone. "I don't believe there's another man breathing
who would have had the courage to plan a coup like this."

Wingate shrugged his shoulders.

"The men who dig deep into life," he replied, as he shook hands, "are the
men who take risks. I was never meant to be one of those who scratch
about on the surface."

A note was slipped into his letter box as he let Slate out. He noticed
the coronet on the envelope and opened it eagerly. A glance at the
signature brought him disappointment. He read it slowly, with a hard
smile upon his lips:

My dear Mr. Wingate,

I am writing to express to you my sincere and heartfelt regret for last
night's unfortunate incident. I can do no more nor any less than to
confess in plain words that I was drunk. It is a humiliating confession,
but it happens to be the truth. Will you accept this apology in the
spirit in which it is tendered, and wipe out the whole incident from your
memory? I venture to hope and believe that you are sportsman enough to
accede to my request.

Yours regretfully.

DREDLINTON.

Wingate was conscious of a feeling of disappointment as he threw the note
upon the table. Open warfare was, after all, so much better. An _amende_
so complete left him with no alternative save acquiescence. Ev